Shots
by ForeverMATT
Summary: Crucially unstable after the loss of a friend, Mello finds comfort in a redheaded child. (Rating has gone up.)
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Shots

**Summary:** Crucially unstable after the loss of a friend, Mello finds comfort in a redheaded child.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own DN or anything referenced.

**Author's Note:** Dunno why this came to mind, but here it is: my fingers on the keyboard and serving as a conduit to get my brain matter in word form. -(Now, if only Cobain could have done something similar...)

**About the Title:** This is going to be a brief series of OneShots (probably no more than three or four), all focused on the companionship between _adult Mello_ and _child Matt_. Rating, setting, plot, and circumstances are subject to change.

…

* * *

Poetry to the ears was the sound a scream, the wretch of gunfire. Panic ensued, future corpses racing with wild flails and uncontrollable sobs.

Contrary to what it may seem, this was no busted raid or a ragtag infiltration. This was a defense mechanism in the works.

The world had taken Matt from Mello like God had smite the first born sons so long ago. And this- this chaotic vengeance turned massacre- could barely sate the blonde beast responsible.

Blood shined on his leather and his teeth were bared in a cannibalistic fashion, but his eyes were nothing more than two empty wells of loathing.

There was no genuine satisfaction as a gun was raised and a trigger was pulled, bullet exploding and implanting itself into the skull of a child.

Yes, a child... because it is no worse to kill a child or woman than an adult man. Killing one person is no different than killing another.

However, there could be no forgiveness for the sorry fuck that took the life of a redheaded teen that had been full of smiles one moment and bullet wounds the next.

Mello had watched the holes form and weep copper onto the frayed fabrics that stretched around them like shutters on windows. He had seen the way the redhead's body jolted before making the agonizingly slow descent to the ground as his life perished and his soul vacated the premises of eternity.

Mello had lost a piece of himself that day, but that day was so far away, and it is only now that he has deemed himself ready -anger manifested and motive festered like rotting flesh- to take action, redeem his losses.

-Planting another bullet into a screaming civillian, it was easy for Mello to signal his men to secur the perimeters, not to allow anyone to escape. And, as he tucked his gun away, it was a little too easy to hit the button and detonate the bombs that had been placed so cleverly on pillars and in buildings.

This was all so easy, like ordering fast food rather than slaving in a kitchen. Convenience at its best.

It all went off without a hitch, and with his thirst for blood fully obliged, he was ready to go and retire at the base; he was ready to continue to mourn the loss of his lover and friend. He was ready to do a lot of things... until he heard crying.

Faint crying. Soft sobs and quiet sniffling.

_Dammit! _Mello cursed internally as a voice in his head coaxed him to investigate. And what he found nearly stopped his heart.

In a cold, damp alley crouched a little boy... with hair redder than red and large green eyes shining with tears.

It hurt to look at the child whose features so closely mirrored his lover, but Mello steeled himself to look away.

He had no business with the kid. His work was done, bodies were burning, and he could leave and be a free man, enslaved only by harsh memories and self-imposed guilt.

That was the plan.

At least, that was the plan until the blonde felt a small hand in his before a meek voice assalted his ears, stuttering: "T-Take me with you."

Releasing the hand and offering a scowl, Mello was ready to leave the child behind without a second thought, but a look into those eyes caused his resolve to weaken and snap.

Because those eyes, such a hypnotic shade of green, were laced with both pain and determination. Even through the tears that streamed, strength was evident. Then, those small pink lips parted and a confident voice emerged. "I don't know you. And you don't know me. But you came to see me even though you didn't have to. I don't know what you do or where you came from, but you came to see me without the intent of hurting me... or else I'd be dead already, I know."

"Kid," Mello began, voice gruff and eyes narrowed threateningly, "what makes you sure I won't rape you and slit your throat?"

The threat came out intimidating, as expected, but the child smiled serenely, eyes losing their tear-stricken luster as he said: "You won't hurt me because you've been hurt enough. I don't know how you got hurt, but you don't want to hurt me. Besides, you look like you've messed up a lot, and I might be your one chance at redemption."

"Redemption?"

"Yeah. You look like you need to live life the way it _should_ be lived: 99% mistakes and 1% viable mutation. And _I_ could be your 1%."

Mello felt his chest tighten as he heard this, but he kept up his facade, as always. "What's your name, kid?"

"Mail. My name's Mail. But you can call me _starving_!" A light-hearted laugh bubbled up from the seemingly manic child, and he grabbed Mello's arm, tugging enthusiastically. "Feed me. Love me. And you'll never be lonely again. Promise."

"...What if I don't want to take a kid with me?"

"Too bad, Mister."

"...What if I tell you that the life I live is too dangerous?"

"You're stuck with me."

"...What if I hurt you?"

"What if you _don't_?"

And for the first time since he could remember, Mello was at a loss for words, and as a small hand slipped into his, he knew he'd never be able to turn away and walk alone. And as he walked along, feet thumping to a rhythm in his head and heart beating anew, he caught sight of his shadow... and a smaller one by its side... and he smiled.

Because, worries and morale be damned, there was something appealing in the unspoken promises passed between subtle glances and sweaty palms.

The future looked bright.

…

* * *

**/And, there we go./**


	2. Chapter 2

******Title:** Shots

**Summary:** Crucially unstable after the loss of a friend, Mello finds comfort in a redheaded child.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own DN or anything referenced.

**Author's Note:** Terrible chapter here, but it could be worse. Still, I must state that it deals with my best interpretation of an event that I HATE reading about. (*confession* Almost every time I've ever read anything with a shopping-related scene in it, I skimmed it briefly at best. For some reason, regardless of content, the context is something I just don't like. Not sure why. Personally, I love shopping IRL, but reading about it is just... _yick_! -Also, there's something I must mention here! I saved this and uploaded it onto fanfiction, right? And, when I went to skim it for mistakes [believe it or not, I do that sometimes.] I couldn't find the file, and I was kinda pissed because I was stupid enough to delete the original without backing anything up, so... I thought it was lost. Luckily, I realized that I saved it under the wrong title. LOL)

…

* * *

Curiosity was the damnedest thing, leading one to explore insecurities and new extremities regardless of danger.

A crude mix between curiosity and desperation is what brought an 8 year old boy into the unofficial (and illegal) custody of the 20 year old mafia boss.

Mail sat atop a desk, feet dangling listlessly as he hummed to himself to stave off boredom. Unfortunately, there's only so much entertainment a child can find in the dank environment he was subjected to, and his mind wandered to the man who had taken him off the streets only a week ago. "Mello? Tell me why your face looks like that."

The blonde had been sorting through paperwork that his underlings had managed to fuck up; his temples pulsed in agitation and as he heard the child's words, he dropped the papers and sat back, already knowing perfectly well that if the child's curiosity wasn't sated soon he'd suffer an onslaught of queries. So, with a deep breath, he answered "I had an accident."

"What kind of accident? You look like the bad guy in a horror movie."

"I had things to do, and people stood in my way... One thing led to another, and this was the result."

"You're very vague. I want details!"

"No."

"Then I want ice cream."

"Kid, I'm in the fuckin' Mafia; I don't have ice cream!"

"But you have _chocolate_. Can't you just tell somebody to go get ice cream for me? I'm _bored_."

"Play with the toys I got you."

"...I'm not five or six; they hold no amusement to me, and you are _not_ being a very good host."

"Well, maybe you should stop being a whiny little brat and find something to do!"

And... the redhead's eyes narrowed, shiny with unshed tears as his mouth formed a line and his posture erected fully. "You, sir, are an asshole. Your friend that died probably died of boredom- either that, or you were so mean, he went all emo, cried a river of tears, and drowned in it!" The moment those last words came out, a gloved hand shot out and slapped him, jerking his head to the side and causing a red welt to form almost instantly.

"Kid... I'm sorry. Just, don't ever talk about Matt that way."

"Oh yeah? Well, don't talk to me. _Ever_."

"Don't be so stubborn, I'm not a bad guy. People say stupid shit- it happens."

"You're still talking to me."

"And I'm going to keep talking to you for as long as I want to!"

"You're arguing with a kid. Does that make you feel like a badass?"

"Don't say ass!"

"Don't tell me what to do!"

"One more word, and I _won't_ get you any ice cream!"

And that was the last of the conversation/argument. Mello went back to his paperwork and Mail played with Ball in a Cup.

Time moved so slow, but eventually, the papers were filled out, errors were mended, and the pen was put down. And when the blonde looked to the redhead, he found the child curled up, sleeping in a ratty old chair with the little toy still gripped in his hand. The simple sight tugged at his insides and he found it hard to look away. He was reminded of another redhead who used to fall asleep in that very chair, Gameboy in hand and a smile in place.

The resemblance was uncanny. Aside from the age gap, the only difference was... this child wasn't smiling. In fact, he looked pained; his face twisted in agony and his eyes shut too tight.

It was then that Mello decided on a new goal. For as long as this child was in his care, he'd give him the world, light up the sky, and do whatever it took to make him smile.

...

Mello waited for the redhead to stir awake on his own. The moment those green eyes were unveiled, he tossed a black bomber jacket at him and ordered him to put it on and grab a pair of shoes.

Mail sluggishly obeyed, still sleepy and disoriented. He pulled on the over-sized jacket and slipped on a pair of shoes that were ragged and held together with duct tape.

"Let's go," Mello said once he deemed ready.

No further talk was passed along, even as Mello shuffled the child out the door and to a Cadillac. A ten minute drive, during which Mail had to play with every button within reach, and they were pulling into a parking lot.

Getting out and coaxing the redhead out as well, Mello smiled at the sudden enthusiasm that came over the child.

It started with the widening of eyes and the baring of teeth; then his little body literally trembled with excitement as he hopped in place and squealed: "Ice cream, ice cream!" before running to the entrance of the local parlor.

Mello followed behind at a casual pace, genuinely glad to have made the child so happy.

Entering the parlor and standing at the counter, the duo looked over the span of choices.

"Gimme a small chocolate shake and...- what do you want, kid?" The blonde ordered for himself and left an opening for the redhead.

Mail pumped his little fist in the air and declared: "Mudslide Sundae! With Sprinkles! And I want french fries on the side!"

Their orders were paid for, prepared, and handed out, and they took a seat at a booth in the corner. Mello sipped at the chocolatey goodness that was his shake, and Mail dipped his fries into his frozen treat.

"So, y'like ice cream?" Mello asked casually, leaning back and setting his half-empty (half-full) shake on the table.

Mail shrugged, took a bite of his ice cream that was heavily loaded with colorful sprinkles, and then he nodded shyly, but his eyes betrayed the bashfulness by exposing excitement. "Yeah, I really like ice cream. Who doesn't? Only crazy people don't like ice cream. Crazy people and those who are lactose intolerant. Luckily, I'm not crazy or-"

"So, Mail, what do you want?" Mello interrupted.

"Come again, Mister?"

Mello elaborated. "Well, while we're out, I thought I could pick you up some clothes that actually fit. And, if you're good, maybe something fun to play with."

Mail didn't respond, but he ate the rest of his fries and sundae with a pensive expression creasing his brow and twisting his lips to the side comically.

...

They were long gone from the parlor and into an industrious shopping center with Mello leaning against a cart and Mail filtering through the selection.

"There's a cute shirt, get it," Mello said off offhandedly, trying not to let his impatience show.

The child gave him an incredulous look before shaking his head. "Dude, Mister, Sir, Man- Don't you realize that I'm going to be nine soon? I'm only a year away from life-spanning in _double digits_! I can't look _cute_." With that, he grabbed a striped sweater and held it up to himself. "I like this. Warm, practical, and it has a pattern. But it's not a checkered pattern- I hate checkers. And it doesn't have a stupid design with words and stuff; those kinda piss me off."

Hearing this, Mello fought back the grin that threatened to form; instead, he allowed a subtle smirk to tug at his lips. "Don't say _piss,_" was all he bothered with, grabbing the shirt and dropping it into the cart.

Several nearly identical shirts later, four pairs of blue jeans, two pairs of khakis, three colorful sets of pajamas, and Mail was losing interest in shopping.

"Just grab some socks, underwear, a pair of shoes, and new coat, and we'll go. Okay? That's everything you need."

Pouting, Mail pushed Mello away from the cart and took it into his own hands, pushing it down the aisle and tossing in his preferred socks and briefs. "My feet are small, so when I pick out the shoes, you can't look at the size," he declared haughtily, cheeks heating up and grip tightening on the bar of the cart.

Mello said nothing but motioned him along and followed, slipping his hands into his pockets and smiling, despite the length of time this had taken; he enjoyed being out with the boy.

-They spent nearly two hours looking through shoes; Mail was getting displeased and Mello's frustration was showing.

"Just pick a pair already. You don't even have to like it!"

"...but, Mello, sir... I want a pair of boots like yours. And I'm pretty sure they're not Nike or Reebok."

And Mello's agitation melted all over again.

-They picked up a pair of boots and began to look through coats, jackets, coveralls and things of the like.

"I suppose you want a leather jacket like mine?" Mello asked with a knowing smile, but his expression changed when Mail shook his head.

"Nope. I like that fuzzy vest."

"But a coat will keep you warmer and-"

"Don't argue with a child, Mister. You _won_'t win."

"Alright, the vest is an eye sore, but whatever. You're the one who has to wear it."

With that, they hit the checkout line, paid, and were on their way.

...

Getting back to the base, Mello had to carry Mail inside, for exhaustion had taken its course. He had a couple lackeys unload the car as he entered and laid the redhead on the ratty old chair he'd taken a liking to.

"You were good today. I'll find you something to play with soon. Maybe a videogame. Would you like that?"

But child was already dozing off, eyes closed as he curled in on himself.

Mello ran a hand through the 8 year old's soft hair and thought about how it felt to spend the day with him. The thought brought another smile to his face, and he knew the last time he'd smiled half as much... was when Matt was alive to take up space, offer bitchy comments, and shower him with the most precious and serene sense of love that had ever boasted existence. His face screwed up at a sudden assault of emotional pain as he recalled his lover again.

More appropriately, he recalled the _absence_ of his lover- the Lord's cruel repo of the only good thing he'd ever had.

His thoughts of anguish, however, were interrupted by a small chubby hand loosely clasping his arm and a sleep-slurred voice saying something he never thought he'd hear.

_"I love you, daddy."_

...

* * *

**/So little happened here, and it wasn't well-worded, but... oh well. Maybe next chapter. This just explains why I usually touch up on more emotional things; I can't write shit like this. But, I tried./**


	3. Chapter 3

******Title:** Shots

**Summary:** Crucially unstable after the loss of a friend, Mello finds comfort in a redheaded child.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own DN or anything referenced.

**Author's Note:** Lame chapter is lame. But two updates in a day? That's a surprise. Also, I'm trying to finish up the final chapter of LURK, but I decided to take the plot in a different direction, so bear with me and be patient. Thanks!

…

* * *

It had been more difficult than he had thought it would be- detaching himself from reality, but he'd done it. Blue eyes as cold as steel and as heartless as any executioner, he placed his bare hand on the infant, feeling the icy chill of death in his grasp as he lifted it; the limbs had not yet suffered from rigor mortis, and so the baby's head and limbs flopped with the slight motions.

Cleaning up after this sort of incident was never pleasant, but arson couldn't be used every time he wanted to hide a massacre. And so, he and his lackeys were removing every corpse in the nursery, every staff member and child, and then relocating the bodies.

Normally, the blonde would at least wear gloves to avoid leaving prints behind, but after already bribing every crooked cop in the city, there was almost no need to be cautious anymore.

Once all the bodies were loaded up, he instructed a lowly peon to make a trip to the landfill while he himself headed back to the base.

-Arriving in a matter of minutes, he headed inside and his ears were greeted with beeps and blips- the sound of some game or another he'd gotten for his newest companion.

"Mail," he greeted, forcing his voice to sound normal so as not to alert the child of his latest wrong-doings.

Not even bothering to pause the game, the 8 year old threw the controller and scrambled to his feet before closing the distance between himself and the blonde and crushing him in a hug. "I missed ya. You were gone all day, and I was getting lonely. I ate some of your chocolate and hacked your computer. I hope you're not too upset."

At this, Mello screwed his face up in confusion and gently pried the redhead off him. "_What_ did you say?"

Blushing lightly and averting his gaze, Mail answered, "I... ate some of your chocolate."

"Not that. The _other_ thing."

Gulping nervously, he tried again. "I hacked your computer."

Taking in a deep breath, Mello stepped back to take in the child's appearance.

Striped shirt and sheepskin vest. Flaming red hair and bright green eyes. Lightly freckled face and small pouty lips. A thin frame and nimble fingers. A love for games and an apparent knack for anything technological. And most importantly, the ability to love a chocolate-addicted murderer.

Putting all the little clues together, Mello was bitch-slapped with a sense of deja vu. "Mail..." he said with a suddenly emotionless tone. "Mail, no. You have to change your clothes and find a new hobby. You're not- You're not _him_. I already lost him once, and I'm not willing to let that happen again."

"But I like-"

"You'll listen to me, or I'll drop you off at a children's home. Then you can be someone else's problem!" And with an angry outburst, he turned on heel and walked away, fighting back the liquid emotion that threatened to spill. Because, as much as he loved the child that had forced himself into his life, he wasn't sure he could handle the pending consequences.

The pain was still too raw. And Mail was a little too much like Matt.

Mello's heart just couldn't take it.

…

* * *

**/One more chapter after this./**


	4. Chapter 4

******Title:** Shots

**Summary:** Crucially unstable after the loss of a friend, Mello finds comfort in a redheaded child.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own DN or anything referenced.

**Author's Note: **Well, I was gonna wait to post this, but I'm impatient, so... -I like this better than the last two chapters, but it's still touch-and-go, so... I dunno. Let me know what you think. I might end this fic here, or there could be one more chapter.

…

* * *

Five years.

That's how long it had been since the ill-fated day of departure. That day, Mello's heart had broken so fully at the mere thought of losing another loved one, he'd followed through with his threat and had dragged the child -kicking and screaming- to an orphanage and turned him over.

Confused and bitter expressions would be all they had to remember one another and, coming back to the base to nothing but emptiness and a tv that read _GAME OVER_, the full gravity of his actions removed what humanity had remained inside him.

That day, he vowed to never again let anyone in. Nothing had ever shone light on his darkening depths again. And he no longer felt any remorse as he ripped through someone's flesh and ended their life.

As for what became of the child, he had no clue, nor did he intend to find out.

-Yet, five long years have passed, and unbeknownst to a certain blonde, the now-thirteen year old had his own intentions.

Eyes hidden behind clever apparel, stripes on his back and loose jeans allowing adequate movement, he stalked along the shadows, veiled in the clutches of night. One hand fingering the heavy metal in his pocket and the other hand flicking open a switch blade.

He was no longer the same obnoxious child he had been so long ago; five years can do a lot to a person: twist them in ways that make them unrecognizable.

And so, he lurked, slinking down an alley and toward a discreet metal door near a rickety old fire escape.

Sucking in a breath, his keen eyes caught sight of a camera, and he stealthily avoided its watchful leer; he shuffled up the fire escape, making as little ruckus as possible and stopping when his hands were within reach of the camera. Then, kneeling, he reached through the bars and used the blade to cut through the wire.

After that, he hurried higher up the fire escape, three or four stories up before stepping out onto a weathered old beam and pressing himself flat against the building. Eyes narrowed in concentration, he slid across until he was able to reach a drain pipe and shimmy down two floors, coming to a halt at a busted window.

He settled himself on the sill and jammed the blade of his knife into the molding strip around the window shards, carefully nudging the sharp glass away from the structure and clearing a path for himself to get through unscathed.

Once he deemed it safe enough, he slipped in feet-first and was met with an empty room.

Closing the knife and pocketing it, he found it laughable at how easy the infiltration was- then again, he'd been planning this for some time, patiently waiting for things to fall under the circumstances he needed.

He needed the Mafia boss to be alone and the lackeys to be either gone or so intoxicated that they'd be virtually useless. And finally, that had happened.

He'd hacked and looped old footage on most of the cameras, but he cut one, intending to alert someone to be on their guard.

His plan paid off when a grunt worker stumbled into the same room as he'd entered; the man's eyes were dilated from whatever had gotten him high, and he waved a gun around in a manner that was meant to be threatening.

"Listen here, ya little shit! Boss says-"

And that was the last words out of his mouth before the intruder had unveiled his own gun, complete with a rather effective homemade silencer and a very sensitive trigger.

Without warning, a bullet had burst forth and lodged itself in the man's skull, causing him to drop almost instantly.

The intruder grit his teeth at the sight but urged himself on, gun still in hand as he exited the room and took an immediate left, having already memorized the layout of the warehouse weeks in advance.

-Coming to a dark room that smelled comfortingly of leather and chocolate, he knew he'd found his target. He unscrewed the silencer and let it drop the the ground with an angry clatter, quickly and effectively drawing attention to himself.

The blonde target bolted for cover behind a crate and cocked a gun of his own, keeping calm and listening closely to gauge the exact location and intentions of whoever had invaded his base. "State your name and business, and you might make it out alive," he lied through his teeth, finger on the trigger and back tight to the wooden barrier.

The blonde crime lord expected a snarl. He expected a threat. He expected to hear the cry of a gunshot before feeling pain, but... nothing of the sort came.

Instead, he heard another clatter of a heavier metal on wood: a pistol being dropped. Then, a surprisingly soft voice. "I'm not going to kill you, dumbass. If that had been my goal, I would have just blown up the place, cut my losses, and hightailed it out of here."

Not recognizing the voice, Mello chanced a peek around the corner and the shamble that was his heart froze mid-beat. "Matt? Is-Is that you?" His heart thudded in desperation and his eyes widened with an emotion he'd forgotten how to feel. "C-Come here. Let me get a closer look."

In the dim lighting, he could make out the lanky build, the red hair, and the striped shirt. Nothing more.

His heart skipped and he found his own gloved fingers reaching out, daring to touch what he'd tried so hard to forget.

His mouth going dry, he forced his feet to move. Out from behind the crate and toward the redhead, he felt a sense of bliss like no other.

Better than any raw fuck or dose or cocaine. Better than the most incredibly drunken stupor or hallucination.

Whatever this was, it was real, and it was now in his arms. It was warm, and he was never going to let go again.

Hugging the intruder close, burying his face into the crook of a slim neck, he inhaled that familiar stench of sweat and nicotine and gunpowder.

Then that voice came again, and his heart wanted to break all over again at what he heard.

"No, Mello. I'm not Matt. I'll never _be_ Matt. But... for you, I can be pretty damn close."

Pulling away and acknowledging that what he wanted and what he had were two different things, he forced a mask of indifference before monotonously saying: "Good to know you're doing well, _Mail_. Now, go _home_."

But the redheaded teen glared venomously and simply said: "I _am_ home." He retrieved and flicked open the switch blade and hissed: "For the first time in five years, I'm exactly where I want to be, in front of _who_ I want to be with. And I'll do whatever I have to in order to keep it that way. -Don't make me do something I regret."

"Mail, you're just a kid. You don't understand-"

"_What_? That you lost someone close to you? Same here! The only difference is... the person who was close to me _sent_ me away by_ choice_!"

And at that, the blonde lowered his head, conceding to both shame and bewilderment. "I... I never wanted to fail you. I wanted to protect you."

"You can't protect the world, Mello. You couldn't protect Matt, and you can't protect me. But... you can love me. That's all I ask. Don't send me away. I... I need you."

"But you'll get hurt. People die-"

"People die all the time, Mells. But that doesn't mean it's your fault." Dropping the blade and raising a hand to his goggle frame, Mail smiled bitterly and pulled the apparel down to rest around his neck. "Look into my eyes, Mello. What do you see?"

And Mello looked. Blue wells of emotion collided with fervent green moss pits, and he assessed. "...I see a kid who-"

"No, dammit!" Mail huffed loudly. "Look _harder_! I'm no different than you anymore. I've taken lives. I've participated in illegal drug raids and taken up every horrible activity I thought you might have done. And you know what? I'm okay. I don't feel bad. Because... I know how you feel, and all I want is to make you feel better."

Mello was rendered speechless, looking at the child that he had saved from the streets well over five years ago, and he couldn't help but notice all the changes. What might have started as a little boy named Mail had almost completely warped into the Matt he lost, and he couldn't help wondering if it was his fault... or some cruel twist of fate.

And then, the unthinkable happened.

The redheaded teen shuffled closer and dropped to his knees, hands reaching for the laces of the blonde's leather pants. "Mells, let me make everything better. Let me be your Matt. Please. Call me _Matt_, just once. Close your eyes... and say the word."

Mello was skeptical, and though he knew better, he obliged. His eyes closed and he inhaled sharply, whispering a mantra of the name that felt so right on his tongue: "Matt... Matt... Matty."

Just then, his flaccid dick was released from leather bindings and enveloped in a warmth he had forgotten.

"Oh, Matt-Mah-Matty!" He cried out, refusing to open his eyes, afraid of seeing the truth as he let a thirteen year old boy pleasure him orally and bring him to climax.

And even when the deed was done and his seed was swallowed and lapped at with a tentative tongue, he refused to open his eyes. Because, for just a few minutes, his Matt was back, loving him in a tender way, and he was able to chant that name like a most meaningful prayer.

Opening his eyes would be a mistake, of that much he was certain.

But Mail pulled away from the blonde's limp member and tucked it neatly into the leather confines, tying the laces once more. "Let me stay this time," he said softly, eyes showing all the emotions Mello refused to see. "_Please_."

-Mello never answered, but he never rejected the proposal either. He simply turned away and took a seat on a dust-covered chair, and shortly after, Mail joined him, crouching by his side and waiting for whatever would come their way.

Because, Mail knew that the world was terrible and fickle, but he also knew what it was like to face hardships alone. And now, with this unspoken alliance, neither he nor Mello would have to be alone again.

…

* * *

**/I kinda like it, but I kinda don't. I have mixed feelings. So, let me know what you think. Also, should I do one more chapter or leave it as it is?/**


End file.
